<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Dragon's Hoard by TheRealDanniX</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25215265">A Dragon's Hoard</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealDanniX/pseuds/TheRealDanniX'>TheRealDanniX</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Dragon of Kaer Morhen [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dragon Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, no beta we die like witchers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:48:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,820</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25215265</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealDanniX/pseuds/TheRealDanniX</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier thinks he's starting to get a good hold on his new instincts as a dragon, but a bardic competition puts him to the test when his greatest rival and the only man to ever steal from his hoard is one of his competitors. </p><p>Featuring: Hoarding, draconic pride, fluffy interactions, a small plot, and a reveal. </p><p>Will Jaskier be able to keep his instincts in check and win?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Dragon of Kaer Morhen [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>403</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Dragon's Hoard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! I am still alive!</p><p>Apologies that nothing has been updated for like a month and a half! I had a bit of a breakdown, but I'm doing better now! Which means I will be updating all sorts of things, but I wanted to get this out since It was the one that I've actually been able to write on while I was breaking down. </p><p>I hope y'all enjoy this, let me know in the comments what you think. I've got at least one more planned in this series. If you have ideas for this verse, drop those in the comments too! I love to hear from y'all and it makes it so much easier to keep writing when I know y'all are enjoying it.</p><p>Thank you so much for the response to the first part of this series! Y'all are amazing!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>         By mid-Spring, Jaskier thought he had a good handle on his new reality. It was different outside the keep, a bit harder to keep the little things in check. Not snort smoke. Not let his eyes change. Keep the claws in. Yet, traveling with Geralt was the same as it had always been. They traveled from town to town. Geralt killed monsters. Jaskier sang. They took care of each other. The sex was an added bonus, though they had to be careful since Jaskier tended to slip a little in the throes of passion. After one particularly pleasant night, he realized he’d even let his wings out. There were certainly some odd things that came with being a dragon.</p><p>         Their first night in an inn after Kaer Morhen, Jaskier had started talking, not really paying attention to what he was doing. He likely wouldn’t have noticed except he looked over to find his Witcher smirking at him. Then he had looked at the blankets in his hand, the bed he had pushed into a corner, and the furs he had already started to arraign on it. Geralt had actually laughed when he had tried to force himself to stop nesting and had only managed a few minutes before the urge to move had him arraigning blankets again. After a few nights of doing this, he had stopped being too concerned. Besides, Jaskier couldn’t dispute the inexplicable jolt of joy he felt curling up inside his nest with his mate.</p><p>         Something else that had started after they left the keep was how Jaskier had taken over hunting for the pair of them. In the past, this was something that Geralt had expressly claimed as his reasonability at camp, not trusting Jaskier’s hunting abilities. The first week of camping on the road, he had tried to let Geralt take care of it. But every day that he would sit at camp waiting for the Witcher to return, Jaskier felt himself growing increasingly frustrated without a real reason. After a disagreement, which had nothing to do with hunting, Geralt had all but ordered him into the woods and out of the camp so that he could take care of Roach in peace. He returned to camp in a better state of mind and dragging a small boar. The executive decision was made that Jaskier would do the hunting from then on.</p><p>         Another odd thing was apparently his temperature. He hadn’t noticed it much since it had finally stopped being cold all the time, but, according to Geralt, his temperature changed with his mood. Geralt being Geralt, he hadn’t said anything until Jaskier made a comment about how much more attentive the Witcher had been to his emotions. The White Wolf had then explained that he was simply paying attention to when heat spiked to know that something was happening in Jaskier’s mind so that he could do something about it. Doing something about it normally meant kissing or hugging Jaskier to get him to calm down, so the bard wasn’t complaining.</p><p>         Despite all of this, things finally felt normal. They were on their way to the annual Bardic Competition in Toussaint where he fully intended to début his newest songs written during his time with the other wolves. He was particularly excited to perform the ballad he had written about the wolf pack led by the brave grey wolf of the keep. Geralt was not nearly as excited as Jaskier. In fact, his attitude had been positively glum for most of the trip, growling and grunting at any attempt to lighten his mood. The Witcher was upset because of Toussaint’s ties to Nilfgard, though what that had to do with them had not been explained. Jaskier wasn’t dumb. He knew that Nilfgard had been getting more aggressive as of late, but surely, they would leave bards and witchers to their work. Why wouldn’t they? He had tried to tell Geralt as much but had only been met with a fierce glare and “Not us” growled in his face. Jaskier had let it go. They were still traveling to Toussaint.</p><p>         When they arrived, the city was bustling with people all getting ready for the three-day festival that accompanied the two-day competition. (The last day of the festival would be spent honoring the winning bard.) It was the first large city they had gone to since Jaskier had become a dragon. After passing through several towns, Jaskier thought he was ready for the bombardment the crowds would be on his newly heightened senses. He was emphatically not. The sheer amount of noise made him dizzy: talking, shouting, singing, and playing in the streets filled to the brim with people. The smell was worse. Everywhere he turned was the sour, rotten fruit stench of fear that seemed to be directed at them, or more accurately at Geralt. It mixed with the already awful smells that plagued every city. They passed a shop selling perfumes and the smell had him gagging. His Witcher gripped him close, guiding them through the city to the estate where all 12 of the main competitors would be staying. Jaskier had never been so grateful to see cold marble halls and pinch-faced servants.  They were led to their room and he didn’t wait to close the door before burying his face into Geralt’s neck where his smell of leather, horse, and pine was the strongest. Geralt wrapped him in strong arms and let him stay there for a while. Just the two of them together.</p><p>         “Jaskier,” Geralt said eventually. Jaskier knew that tone. That was his <em>tell me what’s happening because I’m confused but I’m not actually confused enough to ask so you could stay silent</em> tone.</p><p>         “I’m all right, Geralt,” Jaskier said, pulling himself from Geralt’s arms. He went and closed the door, beginning his nightly process of rearranging one of the beds to be a suitable nest. “It was just a bit more than I was expecting in town.” Geralt hummed in understanding. “Thankfully, we’ll be on the grounds for the competition so the only thing I’ll really have to deal with is the sound. Gods, I can’t believe how loud it was. Really Geralt, I’m beginning to understand why you avoid cities in your travels. Oh, and that smell! I thought I was used to the smell of fear that people seem to have around you, but this was on such another level. How do you stand it?” Geralt, predictably, didn’t answer, choosing instead to settle in a chair by the fireplace, watching in amusement as the bard nested. “Well, I suppose, you’ve had decades.” He shrugged, shifting topics. “You know, they’ve changed the format for the competition this year. It used to be anyone could enter, and the top twelve would progress to the real competition, getting to stay here. This year it was by invitation only. Something about it being their twentieth year of competition. I don’t really understand why, but, according to their message, they chose the twelve greatest bards of the continent and invited them here to determine who is the best of the best.” Geralt snorted. “Oh, keep it to yourself, dear Witcher. I am good at what I do, even if you refuse to admit it.”</p><p>         “Just make sure to not set fire to your competitors,” Geralt rumbled. Jaskier glared at him, purposely letting his pupils shift into slits. Geralt raised an eyebrow, looking more amused than intimidated.</p><p>         “I’m not reckless and I do not have a death wish,” Jaskier snapped. “I can keep my temper in check.” Geralt hummed again. That was his <em>I don’t believe you, but I’m not going to fight you</em> hum. “I can!”</p><p>         “You’re smoking,” Geralt said. Jaskier threw a pillow at him.</p><p>         Sometime later, Geralt and Jaskier went down for the opening feast, clean and dressed in fresh clothing. Geralt had huffed and growled but finally complied with Jaskier’s request for him to wear formal attire. It had, in fact, been a compromise, with Geralt picking out his own formal wear: an outfit that was surprisingly stunning on his Witcher. The wolf wore a nice black doublet with matching trousers, and a beautiful, decorative sheath with a silver short sword attached to his hip (since bringing his two long swords to a feast was out of the question). Threatening and beautiful. Jaskier was immensely proud of his mate’s choices. The dragon was wearing a new blue doublet and matching trousers with a scaled pattern and pale golden embroidery. He had found that it was a matter of pride to show off bits of his dragon form in his clothing. It was comforting. It also seemed to be something of a frustration for Geralt. Jaskier had insisted that it didn’t matter if his clothing sometimes resembled his draconic features. Geralt had insisted it wasn’t safe. Jaskier had ignored him. Besides, he liked the way that Geralt would mutter about his scales being better than any man-made patterns.</p><p>         Almost all of the other competitors were there when they arrived at the feast. Jaskier counted ten other performers, all of whom he knew from Oxenfurt or his travels. His friend Pricilla was the only one who cared enough to greet him with a smile and a hug. “Julian!” she cried, wrapping her arms around him. Jaskier returned her embrace with a chuckle.</p><p>         “My dear Pricilla, I haven’t been Julian since I left Oxenfurt and, what’s more, you know it,” Jaskier said. He smiled broadly as they released each other. “If I may introduce you to Geralt of Rivia, the famous White Wolf.” Jaskier gestured to Geralt. The Witcher just grimaced, inclining his head slightly. “Geralt, this is Pricilla. We went to school together. She was in the year after me and was the best in her class.”</p><p>         “He’s exaggerating,” Pricilla said, blushing fiercely. “A pleasure to meet you, sir Witcher.” She curtsied to him. “You know, Julian, I didn’t think you would come this year.”</p><p>         “It’s Jaskier. And why in the world not?” Jaskier frowned. “When have I ever missed a chance to prove that I’m the best troubadour out there?”</p><p>         “It’s just, after what he did to you, I didn’t think you’d be willing to face him.”</p><p>         “Face who?” he growled. His mate moved closer to him.</p><p>         “Don’t you know? Valdo Marx was invited to participate.” Pricilla reached for him, but Jaskier pulled back. He knew full well that his temperature was soaring at the mention of the man he once wished death on. Geralt tried to take his hand, but Jaskier didn’t let him.</p><p>         He took a breath and plastered on a show smile. “Then I’ll just have to beat him, as I have done every time that leach has crossed my path.”</p><p>         “If you’ll excuse us,” Geralt rumbled. He gripped Jaskier’s arm firmly and pulled him away from Pricilla. “Jaskier,” he said, low enough that only the bard could hear him. “Your teeth.” Jaskier ran his tongue over his teeth, finding them sharper than they had been. “We’re not staying if Marx is here.”</p><p>         “Geralt, I can handle Marx,” Jaskier snapped in the same low voice as they took their seats. “I will not taint my bardic reputation by backing out now, even if that dung beetle decides to show up.” The other guests took their seats too. Thankfully Pricilla was the one to take the seat beside him.</p><p>         “Are you all right, Jaskier?” she asked, quietly. She eyed Geralt as she spoke. Geralt rolled his eyes.</p><p>         Jaskier chuckled tightly recognizing the insinuation. “I’m fine, Pricilla. And if anyone is here against their will, it would be Geralt. I would have thought you above such prejudices, my dear.”</p><p>         “It is not prejudice that made me question him. It is you and your gift for getting yourself into trouble. Surely you know the rumors that went around when you weren’t at court or Oxenfurt this winter. I was about to start a ballad for your funeral when I heard you’d agreed to compete.”</p><p>         “I take one season off and suddenly you believe me dead? I’m wounded.” Jaskier feigned offense as the table filled with the other guests. Though, he guessed she wasn’t exactly wrong. Jaskier, the human bard, was gone. The dragon cleared his throat. “Ah well, I suppose I should feel honored that a bard of your talent was composing it.”</p><p>         “You’ve always been better than me. Especially in that regard. Half the time I’m playing I get requests for your songs. If I have to play <em>Toss A Coin</em> one more time, I will destroy your precious reputation as a lover.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. Jaskier just laughed, letting their conversation end as the host rose and launched into a speech. It wasn’t a particularly engaging speech and Jaskier found his attention wandering to the others seated around the long table. There were still only eleven performers, including himself, though there were more than twice as many people seated at the table. One seat remained open, and, since the man wasn’t there, Jaskier assumed it was for Valdo. The feast continued. Jaskier laughed and chatted with his fellows. Geralt stayed by his side, a silent presence he could count on. When they finally retreated to their room, most of the other guests were drunk. Jaskier should have been, but it seemed his draconic nature made it significantly harder for him to feel the effects of alcohol. There had been enough ale flowing that even the Witcher was drunk, but not Jaskier. Jaskier was incredibly, annoyingly, frustratingly sober. In a stunning reversal of roles, the bard steadied Geralt on the walk back to their room. “Honestly, I’m the only one in this damn house who is not drunk,” Jaskier muttered.</p><p>         “You should be,” Geralt replied sleepily.</p><p>         Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I’m fully aware of that Geralt. I had more than you did.”</p><p>         “Must burn it away.”</p><p>         “I’m sure that’s it, love. Now come on. It’s late and the competition starts in the morning.” Jaskier readjusted his grip on his Witcher who stumbled along beside him. He could just pick up the old man and carry him back to their room, but he knew Geralt wouldn’t appreciate it. He rounded the corner to the guest rooms and froze. Standing in the hallway just outside a room at the end of the hall was Valdo Marx. The troubadours stared at each other for a moment before Valdo grinned wickedly.</p><p>         “Julian,” Valdo drawled. “What a pleasure to see you again.”</p><p>         “Valdo,” Jaskier snapped. Something burned in his gut, and he forced himself to keep his breathing even. He would not blow smoke or fire at the other bard. At least, not until after he had thoroughly beaten him in the coming competition.</p><p>         “And this must be the mighty White Wolf.” Valdo made a mocking bow. “An honor.” Jaskier swallowed a growl. Geralt shifted in his grasp, drawing himself up when he heard the sneer in Valdo’s voice.</p><p>         “It is,” Jaskier forced out. “We can finish this in the morning. I’m sure the long trip from Cidaris was taxing for someone of your <em>advanced</em> age. If you’ll excuse me.” Jaskier pulled Geralt after him, practically dragging him into their room. He let him collapse on the bed he hadn’t nested on and turned to the fireplace in the room. He huffed a long breath of flames at the embers there. It wasn’t really cold enough to need it, but the fire in his stomach needed to go somewhere. Then he paced. “That bloody arsehole,” he muttered. He turned to find the Witcher’s golden stare fixed on him.</p><p>         “You’re smoking,” Geralt rumbled. It wasn’t the pleasant drunken rumble of a few moments earlier. Something twisted in Jaskier’s gut.</p><p>         Jaskier took a deep breath, swallowing the smoke and flames still bubbling in his throat. “I’m sorry, love. I’m fine. Let’s get you undressed.” Geralt raised an eyebrow. Jaskier unstrapped his short sword and set it aside. “Just for bed, darling. There will be no <em>other</em> activities with you inebriated and me utterly sober. I don’t care if we’ve been mated for years, I will never take advantage of you like that.” As he talked, Jaskier pulled off his Witcher’s clothes, starting with the boots and working his way up to the doublet and undershirt. “And before you start, I will behave with Valdo. I swear. I know I’ve told you my history with him and I know you are worried about my pesky draconic instincts causing problems. But I promise. I will behave. Besides, if I can’t get drunk then it’s far less likely I’ll start a fight and you know it. Now come on, love. Up.” Jaskier pulled Geralt off the second bed. “Nest time.” That made his mate smirk, stepping closer.</p><p>         “Nest time?” He murmured.</p><p>         “Shut up.” Jaskier stole a kiss. He stepped backward, leading Geralt with kisses until they were at the edge of the nest. “Come on, my darling Witcher.” Jaskier turned them around so that Geralt was sitting on the bed. The witcher fell, laying down at Jaskier’s guidance. Once he was situated, Jaskier curled up against, pressing his ear to the slow heartbeat in his Witcher’s chest. A quiet purr escaped him as he let himself drift off to sleep.</p><p>         The morning came far too soon. Jaskier wanted to pull his mate closer and stay in bed, but he couldn’t ignore the noisy groans from the hallway as his fellow bards stumbled towards the first part of the competition. So, he pulled himself out of the warm embrace of his Witcher. Geralt groaned as he did. Jaskier smirked, watching the man sit up and rub his eyes. He’d seen the Witcher like that before, after long nights of drinking with his brothers at Kaer Morhen. If there was one thing that the bard could be grateful for, it’s that he would no longer suffer hangovers. “Jaskier,” Geralt growled. Jaskier continued to get ready for the day waiting for him to go on. “How the fuck are you still functioning?” the witcher asked eventually. Jaskier was already dressed by that point, having moved on to checking over his lute before the competition.</p><p>         “I’m sure your recollection is a bit blurry love, but what do you remember about last night?” Jaskier sighed, watching the other man fumble out of their nest.</p><p>         “There was a lot of drinking,” Geralt spat. “You had more than me. I was, er, somewhat drunk.”</p><p>         “Well, that’s accurate. Yes.”</p><p>         “So how the fuck aren’t you hungover?” Geralt started getting dressed. His plain clothes, not his formal attire, so that he could blend in with the audience better. He would still wear a short sword. Geralt would never go into a crowd unarmed. It had taken far too long to convince him to not wear armor to the theater.</p><p>         “I wasn’t drunk.” Jaskier smiled. Geralt hummed. That hum meant something along the lines of <em>Fuck off.</em> “It seems it takes quite a bit to get a dragon drunk and last night was nowhere near enough to even get me buzzed.” He sighed, pouting a little. Geralt rolled his eyes and strapped on his sword.</p><p>         “We ran into Marx,” Geralt said, as though he had just remembered the tense exchange. Jaskier nodded, pulling his lute onto his back. “You blew fire.”</p><p>         “Not until we were alone, dear heart. I do have some self-control. But, yes, we did run into Valdo Marx. And we’ll likely see him again as we’re competing against each other. Now, if you are ready, there’s a competition on and I can’t win if I’m not there.” Before heading for the door though, Jaskier threw one of their waterskins to Geralt with a wink. Then he opened the door and followed the other bards to the main hall for the competition. It would take place in three parts. The first part would be the longest, involving all the entrants. Each bard would be given the opportunity to perform three songs of their choice but not their composition on their preferred instrument. The top six would then be asked to perform an original song on an instrument of the judges’ choice. The top two troubadours would then be asked to perform a full set of their own design in the final part of the competition. The most impressive display would be declared the winner. The first two parts would take place on the first day, allowing the finalists the night and the morning to prepare for their sets. Jaskier had no doubt he would be one of the finalists. As long as he kept his temper in check.</p><p>         Geralt stayed by his side as the competition started. It was likely to keep his mood under observation, but Jaskier appreciated it anyways. He didn’t think it was necessary. Especially when the first performer started playing <em>Toss a Coin.</em> Two of the other performers, including Pricilla, played his songs. Pride swelled when they introduced the pieces, pointing to him in turn. He was the sixth performer of the morning, choosing to do a Cintran Ballad, a Keracki Lullaby, and a raunchy jig that got most of the audience clapping along. It was odd that the volume of the audience didn’t bother him, but maybe the music was helping. When he settled back beside Geralt, he could feel himself glowing with excitement. He leaned into his mate who looked down at him amused. “You’re hot,” Geralt muttered.</p><p>         “Thanks for noticing, my dear Witcher,” Jaskier grinned back. His good mood lasted through the next two performers, only to be ruined when Valdo took the stage. He grinned as he copied Jaskier’s song choices. Geralt slipped an arm around the dragon, literally holding him in place. His teeth dug into his lip as he bit back a snarl when the other bard bowed right at him.</p><p>         “Jaskier,” Geralt warned, tightening his grip. Jaskier ignored him, ripping himself from the firm grip and storming from the room. He needed to get away from people before he lost control. Geralt followed him. Jaskier slammed into the nearest room with a door and let the smoke that had been building curl from his lips with a strangled roar. Geralt closed the door, leaning against it like a barrier. “Jaskier,” Geralt tried again. Jaskier glared at him briefly before resuming his pacing. “Your scales are showing.”</p><p>         “I know,” Jaskier snapped. “I’ll calm down, just let me fume for a moment.” Jaskier could feel his claws digging into his palms. He could see the pale gold scales peeking out from the sleeves of his doublet and feel the tightness in his shoulders where he was sure his wings were trying to break free of the skin. Normally if he was showing this much of his draconic form, he was either shifting or fucking. Neither was usually accompanied by the burning of his throat. He wanted to roar. He wanted to blow flames. He wanted to go after Valdo Marx with a vengeance. He had never been this angry before. Not even when he had first had his <strike>hoard </strike>songs stolen. “Shit.” He forced himself to stop moving and took a deep breath. “Shit. Shit. <em>Shit.</em>” He huffed a smoky breath. “Geralt, this is absolutely awful.” Geralt didn’t ask what. The Witcher just moved closer, taking his dragon in his arms. Jaskier buried himself in the comforting scent of his mate. “That bloody asshole is going to ruin this whole competition for me.”</p><p>         “Hmm.” Geralt agreed. “What does he gain from playing the same songs?”</p><p>         “He gets to claim that he played them better. He gets to mock my technique and say the audience liked him better. If he scores higher than me, he gets to claim that since he clearly beat me doing the exact same thing as me, he is better than me. Which is bullocks.”</p><p>         “Because you are better.” Geralt took his face in his hands.</p><p>         “Damn right,” Jaskier snorted. The corners of Geralt’s mouth ticked up. They kissed and the angry heat that had been boiling in Jaskier’s stomach faded. They stayed in each other’s arms until Jaskier had reigned in his scales and temperature.  His teeth were still on the sharper side when they emerged from the room though. Geralt kept his hand on the small of Jaskier back, a grounding, calming presence. The last performer, a former student of Jaskier’s named Mattias, was finishing his set on the stage when they returned and most of the audience was restlessly preparing for the short break between performances and the results. Mattias bowed, the crowd applauded, and noise filled the room from people beginning to move all around. Jaskier stepped into Geralt’s space, resisting the urge to cover his ears.</p><p>         “Jaskier!” Pricilla emerged from the crowd and reached to take his hand. He jerked back.</p><p>         “You did wonderful, Pricilla,” Jaskier said with a smile.</p><p>         “Are you okay?” Pricilla looked like she wanted to reach for him again but held herself back.</p><p>         “I’m fine, darling. It was a cheap trick.” Geralt’s hand moved to his shoulder.</p><p>         “He’s a bloody arse,” she declared. “The judges will see through it.”</p><p>         “I’m sure they won’t,” Jaskier huffed. “They never have before. Why do you think he’s even been invited?” He folded his arms across his chest. “He’ll make it to the next round, and I’ll beat him there. Then perhaps you and I can go head to head in the final.” He grinned.</p><p>         “You have too much faith in me.” She grinned back.</p><p>         “I know better than to underestimate my opponents.” They chuckled and she disappeared into the crowd. Without a conversation to focus on, the noise became too much. He pressed back into Geralt, unable to even his breathing, still refusing to cover his ears.</p><p>         “Jaskier,” Geralt whispered. “Focus on me. On my voice. On my heartbeat.” Jaskier closed his eyes and listened for the slow rhythm of the Witcher’s heart. All the other sounds faded away. Jaskier breathed with Geralt. They stayed there until someone came on stage and called for quiet. It was a short, fat little man whose nasal voice grated on the dragon’s already hurting ears.</p><p>         “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the man called, “the judges have decided. The six troubadours moving on are Valdo, Pricilla, Mattias, Effie, Camilla, and Jaskier! A round of applause for all our competitors!” He paused as the crowd obliged, shouting and clapping. “And now: Our next round of competition! Each of our top six bards will be asked to perform a song of their own composition on Lyre! We will begin in two hours!” The man raised his arms in dismissal. Geralt barely let the man finish talking before steering Jaskier out of the venue and back towards the guest rooms. Jaskier let him, thankful to be out of the noise for a bit. After the door closed, Geralt released him.</p><p>         “Not that I’m not grateful for the reprieve from the crowds,” Jaskier started. Geralt shushed him. “Geralt, what’s going on?” For a while, the Witcher didn’t answer. He just frowned, occasionally eying the door. “Geralt.”</p><p>         “Your friend. Pricilla,” he grunted.</p><p>         “What about her?” Jaskier sighed.</p><p>         “Do you trust her?”</p><p>         “Of course, I do. I’ve known her for longer than I’ve known you, my darling Witcher. I’ve traveled with her from time to time when we weren’t together. We’ve even wintered in the same courts, working in tandem. Her fiddle and my lute. She’s like a sister to me. Why do you ask? Where is this coming from?” Jaskier frowned. There was a sudden knock on the door.</p><p>         “She’s observant.”</p><p>         “That’s her outside the door, isn’t it?” Jaskier sighed. Geralt nodded. “Right,” Jaskier answered the door, and Pricilla burst inside, brandishing the bow of her fiddle like a weapon, aimed at Geralt. “Pricilla!”</p><p>         “What’s going on?” she demanded with a glare that would rival Yennefer’s. Jaskier quickly shut the door. “What are you doing to Jaskier?” Geralt, predictably, didn’t answer her. Instead, he looked expectantly to Jaskier. The dragon frowned at him. He couldn’t be suggesting what he thought he was. <em>Geralt</em> was the one who was so insistent on keeping it a secret.</p><p>         “Really, Geralt?” Jaskier asked. The Witcher nodded. Pricilla rounded on him with her bow.</p><p>         “Really, what? Jaskier, you have been acting weird since you got here. Tell me what’s going on or so help me I will skewer you!” She waved the bow as she spoke, leaving it aimed at Jaskier’s neck. It would have been amusing if the situation were different.</p><p>         “Lower your bow, Pricilla, and I’ll show you.”</p><p>         “Show me what?” She was still glaring, but the bow was lowered. “Julian, what is going on?”</p><p>         “Well, last fall I was attacked. It doesn’t really matter why, but, while they had me, they, er, mutated me.” Jaskier looked to Geralt, who nodded for him to keep going. “That’s where I was this winter. Adjusting to my new reality.”</p><p>         “As what?” Her smell, which Jaskier had been actively trying not to notice, turned rotten with fear. Her eyes flicked to Geralt.</p><p>         “Pricilla, it’s not Geralt’s fault.”</p><p>         “As what?” Her voice was like ice.</p><p>         “I’m a Dragon, darling,” Jaskier sighed. Pricilla’s mouth fell open. Her bow fell from her hand, and she just stared at him. “I’m afraid there’s not enough room to show you my entire draconic form, but, well, I can show you this.” Jaskier forced his eyes into slits and his scales out on his neck. He let his teeth sharpen and smiled gently, trying to look reassuring. Pricilla backed away.</p><p>         “A dragon,” she breathed. Jaskier forced the dragon back down until he looked like a normal human bard again.</p><p>         “I’m still me.”</p><p>         “You’re a dragon.” Jaskier nodded. “That’s why your teeth looked weird at the banquet?” He nodded again. “That’s why you keep pulling away from me, right? Your skin gives off heat?” Another nod. A dazed smile formed on her face. “I knew something was different.” Her eyes lit up suddenly. “That’s why you smelled like smoke when I mentioned Valdo! Can you breathe fire?” Jaskier nodded, eying his friend. “Oh, and is that why you look so young?”</p><p>         Jaskier frowned. “What?”</p><p>         “You look as though you haven’t aged since you were thirty, even though last time I saw you, your hair was greying,” she explained, gesturing at Jaskier’s hair. Geralt smirked as Jaskier floundered. “I don’t understand how it happened though. You travel with a Witcher. Who would dare?”</p><p>         “A mage who took exception to one of our hunts.” Jaskier managed to compose himself. “I was traveling alone, and they took advantage.”</p><p>         “So, you are a dragon.”</p><p>         “Yes.”</p><p>         “Are you entirely a dragon?”</p><p>         “I’m not sure what you mean,” Jaskier sighed. This was not what he thought telling someone would be like. He had honestly expected screaming or running. Not questions.</p><p>         “Are you like the dragons from the stories or do you just look like them?”</p><p>         “Ah! Well, no, I’m a dragon, instincts and all.”</p><p>         “So, you have a hoard?” Pricilla grinned excitedly</p><p>         “Of a sort, yes, but it’s not some cave filled with gold or jewels, darling.”</p><p>         Her eyes widened. “It’s your songs!” she exclaimed. “That’s why you got so heated with Marx. I haven’t seen you that irritated for years.”</p><p>         “You seem to be handling this rather well,” Jaskier said, brow furrowed. He tilted his head.</p><p>         “I knew something was going on. When you disappeared after Marx performed, I thought it was odd. Then you wouldn’t let me touch you after the round. I thought that maybe you were cursed and that’s why you brought your Witcher with you.”</p><p>         “You weren’t far off,” Geralt grumbled. Jaskier glared at him.</p><p>         “If it were a curse, it would be reversible. This, unfortunately, is not. I didn’t want you touching me because I don’t really have control of my external temperature, and I didn’t want to burn you, darling. Not after Valdo set me off.” Jaskier grimaced when a bit of smoke escaped him. Pricilla let out a little disbelieving laugh.</p><p>         “You’re smoking,” she said.</p><p>         “That happens from time to time.”</p><p>         “Why tell me?” Pricilla asked, looking between the dragon and the Witcher.</p><p>         “You asked and he approved.” Jaskier shrugged.</p><p>         “He trusts you,” Geralt grunted. Pricilla beamed at him.</p><p>         “Pricilla, you cannot tell anyone else. People tend to hunt dragons, and I’ll be stuck in hiding if people find out,” Jaskier said.</p><p>         “And deprive the Continent of your music? Never.” She said it with such severity that Jaskier had no doubt in his mind. Suddenly her face darkened. “What are you going to do about the next round?”</p><p>         “I have a new ballad,” Jaskier started.</p><p>         She cut him off. “I meant Marx. You know he’s going to do one of the songs he stole from you. They’re his most popular songs.”</p><p>         “I doubt he’ll use twenty-year-old songs. Besides, they do not lend themselves to the Lyre.”</p><p>         “Jaskier,” Geralt said. That was his <em>you’re being naïve and it’s going to get you hurt</em> tone.</p><p>         “You know he’ll do it just to mess with you,” Pricilla scolded. “Why don’t you leave after you perform, and I’ll come to get you once he’s done. That way you don’t have to hear it even if he does play your songs.”</p><p>         “If you insist,” Jaskier sighed. He rolled his eyes. “I don’t think even Valdo Marx would be crass enough to do it, though. Now, my dears, if I might suggest something. We don’t have that much time before the next round. We should get some food and continue this conversation tonight if need be.” He picked up the bow and held it out to Pricilla. “Shall we?”</p><p>         “One more question,” Pricilla said. He looked at her expectantly as she took her bow. She pointed it towards Geralt. “If he’s not here to break a curse, why did you bring the Witcher?” Jaskier bristled at her tone, unable to stop his eyes from flashing slits.</p><p>         “I’m here because Jaskier wants me here,” Geralt growled, reaching for Jaskier. The dragon let himself be pulled back towards his Witcher. Pricilla looked between them, understanding dawning on her face as she paled.</p><p>         “Oh. Oh, of course. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’ve just never seen you bring your Witcher to a competition before.” She held her hands up stepping back and bowing her head. She was behaving the way one would when facing a wild animal, Jaskier noted. He hated how it made him relax some. “I’ll see you at the next round.” She backed up to the door, making herself small and less of a threat. After she left, Jaskier turned, pressing against his mate. He let his eyes close and felt a purr rumble through his chest. Geralt sighed, wrapping him in his arms.</p><p>         “I hate these bloody instincts sometimes,” Jaskier mumbled. Geralt hmmed. That was his <em>I know, but I love you anyway</em> hmm. They left the room a while later, grabbing something quick to eat and shuffling back into the theater. Pricilla was the first performer, followed by Mattias. Then came Jaskier, who played an eerie ballad he had been working on about the ghosts at Kaer Morhen (heavily veiled obviously). After his performance, Geralt pulled Jaskier from the room, but not fast enough to keep him from hearing the first few notes of Valdo’s performance. And really, that was enough to recognize his song. Geralt dragged him back to the room they’d been in earlier, using all of his strength to restrain the dragon. Pricilla saw the pair and looked at them with knowing eyes as they disappeared into the room.</p><p>         “Jaskier,” Geralt murmured. Jaskier wasn’t paying attention. He tore himself out of Geralt's arms and began pacing the room. His hands were tight fists, claws digging into his palms. He felt the scales surfacing, knew his eyes were slits, could feel his teeth cutting into his lip. Anger burned in his stomach and smoke poured from him with every breath. “Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice was sharper this time. Jaskier wanted to pay attention but he kept going back to those first few notes of the song. His song. Stolen from him, from his hoard. It was an overwhelming feeling of fury that he wasn’t familiar with. He wanted to rant, but his words wouldn’t come out. Like his throat was already shifted. The rest of his draconic form boiled under his skin. “Jaskier, stop. You’re bleeding.” Geralt took his hands into his own, flattening out the clawed fingers. Golden eyes bore into him, and Jaskier’s anger faltered. “Jaskier, breathe.” A sword callused hand cupped his face gently, the touch barely there through the scales. Jaskier forced himself to take a deep breath, in and out, making smoke plume between them. Chapped lips kissed him, pressing against his fangs. He let his eyes close, let the anger fade so that it wasn’t consuming him. Geralt moved, choosing to wrap his arms around his mate. The scales fell away slowly until he could feel the warmth of his Witcher around him.</p><p>         “I’m alright, love,” Jaskier managed. His voice was rough. It sounded like a growl. Geralt didn’t relax his hold.</p><p>         “Tell me,” Geralt muttered. He meant <em>Tell me what you’re feeling. Tell me what’s upsetting you. Tell me how I can help you. Tell me everything I can’t ask you.</em> It eased something in the dragon.</p><p>         “He’s an ass.” Jaskier turned to breathe in the scent of his mate. “He knows that he could get through with any song, but he used mine because he knows it puts me off. I’ve lost to him before because he knew how to rile me up, and that was before I was holding back the urge to burn him to a crisp for stealing from my hoard.” Jaskier snorted. “Bullocks.” Geralt hmmed. “At least he can’t do it again. Even if he does make it to the final.” There was a gentle knock on the door, and Pricilla peaked in.</p><p>         “He’s done,” she said. She slipped in, closing the door behind her quickly. “Are you okay?” Jaskier stepped back, out of Geralt’s hold. His eyes were still those of a dragon, but Pricilla didn’t look or smell scared.</p><p>         “I’ll be fine. I just need to calm down.” Jaskier swallowed another plume of smoke.</p><p>         “Jaskier, we can’t stay,” Geralt said. Jaskier spun to face his mate. “It’s too risky. Anyone could have seen you before I pulled you in here. If you would have been any angrier, I wouldn’t have been able to stop you.”</p><p>         “Geralt, I can’t just leave. I cannot do that to my reputation. A loss is one thing but abandoning a competition.” Jaskier made a noise in the back of his throat. “Valdo Marx is a pig-suckling, song-stealing prat, but I will be dead before he runs me out of a competition,” he snarled, fangs clicking together. Geralt frowned at him.</p><p>         “Jaskier,” he growled. The bard was in no mood to try and discern the tone.</p><p>         “Geralt, I’m staying. If I lose this round, I will leave. However, if I win, which I will, I will be staying to finish the competition. I’m staying.” Jaskier forced his eyes and teeth to look human before storming from the room, heading back to the auditorium where the final competitor, Effie, had already taken the stage. When she finished, there was a brief period of intermission before the judges came back on stage with the results. Mattias got sixth place. Camilla got fifth and Pricilla got fourth. Effie came in third, which meant that Jaskier would be facing Valdo Marx in the last round of the competition. They didn’t reveal what performer got the higher score.</p><p>         Geralt and Pricilla didn’t come back to the venue. Jaskier didn’t see them again until supper was starting. Pricilla gave him a shy smile before going to sit near Mattias instead. Jaskier held back the urge to grimace. That meant she would be sitting near Valdo too if the troubadour of Cidaris chose to join them. He did, halfway through the meal, but Jaskier was actively not paying attention to him. Geralt took his seat on Jaskier’s left silently, not looking at the dragon. Pricilla’s seat was filled by Effie who Jaskier was more than happy to chat with. He didn’t say a word to his mate. Like the night before, most of the other bards were drunk by the end of the meal. The Witcher and dragon were not though. When they got to their room, Jaskier continued his silence, knowing that Geralt would break soon. And break he did.</p><p>         “Jaskier,” Geralt sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand.”</p><p>         “Oh Geralt,” Jaskier muttered. He turned to face his Witcher. Geralt sat on the un-nested bed, staring at the floor as though it would reveal whatever he didn’t understand. Seeing his mate unhappy made Jaskier’s stomach twist. “My dear wolf, I can’t stay mad at you for long.” Jaskier sat down beside him. “I did try to tell you when we arrived. I’m a master bard and leaving would tarnish that. I cannot claim to be the best if I refuse to compete with any and all others, even if that means facing that cad Marx.”</p><p>         “It’s a matter of pride,” he muttered. Jaskier jolted at the word. Of course, that was it. That was why he was ignoring the logical part of his brain warning him how dangerous it was that people could have seen him. That Marx could elicit that reaction again and Geralt wouldn’t be able to stop him. Dragons were prideful creatures, and, as prideful as he had always been, this was different. There was any number of excuses he could use to get out of the competition without tarnishing his reputation. Especially</p><p>with a Witcher as a companion. But he couldn’t. The sick feeling that he got even considering backing out made him stay. Geralt reached for him, pulling his mate into his lap. Jaskier let himself be pulled until he was straddling Geralt’s hips, foreheads pressed together.</p><p>         “You know me better than I know myself, love,” Jaskier muttered. “I didn’t even realize. You were right. It’s not smart to stay, but, then I’ve never been known for making the smart choice.”</p><p>         “Hmm.” That was his <em>shut-up</em> hum. Jaskier obliged, kissing him instead. He slid his arms around the Witcher’s neck.</p><p>         “Come on love. It’s getting late.” Jaskier kissed him again, before releasing him and getting up. He smirked a bit. “Nest time.” Yellow eyes glinted up at him.</p><p>         “Hmm.” The edges of Geralt’s mouth twitched up.</p><p>         “Yes, yes, make fun of me all you want. It won’t stop me from saying it.” He pulled the Witcher up with him, dragging him towards their nest. Jaskier tugged off the other man’s shirt. Geralt toed off his boots, stealing a kiss as he did. “Where did you and Pricilla get to before dinner?” Jaskier said, letting himself fall back into the warm blankets. Geralt grunted, caging him in his arms, nearly pinning him to the bed. “That’s not an answer love.” Chapped lips pressed bruising kisses along Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier purred a little as Geralt moved to straddle his hips. He arched up against the Witcher involuntarily. A growl came and sharp teeth nipped at the base of his neck. “Geralt,” Jaskier breathed. “Not tonight love.” Instantly, the Witcher pulled back. Jaskier was panting a bit as he relaxed into the pillows.</p><p>         “Hmm?” Geralt tilted his head, staying where he was above the dragon.</p><p>         “I’m too tired for it darling.” Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck. “Come here.” He pulled the Witcher into the nest and immediately flipped them so that he could cuddle against his thick chest. Geralt huffed a bit at being manhandled, but settled quickly, pulling Jaskier close and nosing at his hair. A flick of his wrist and the candles around the rooms went out. The bard fell asleep quickly, content in the warmth coming off his mate. Geralt was gone when he woke up. Jaskier let him be gone, choosing instead to focus on preparing his set for the competition that evening. He compiled several of his new songs from over the winter along with older songs including Her Sweet Kiss, which, he will admit, still brought up painful memories. He couldn’t leave it out. Not with how popular it had been in the few weeks he had performed it after that horrible dragon hunt before he had been taken. Lost in the music, Jaskier didn’t notice when Geralt had returned. The Witcher cleared his throat and held some food out to the bard with a pointed look.</p><p>         “It’s almost time,” Geralt said. He inclined his head to the light pouring in the window. It was nearly noon.</p><p>         “I suppose I lost track of time. Thank the gods I have you here to keep me on track,” Jaskier smiled taking the offered food, which was thankfully something light. He wasn’t sure how much he could stomach at the moment. “And what were you doing this morning?” Predictably, the older man didn’t answer. “Well, as long as you were staying out of trouble, darling. I don’t want to be attempting to clean up your messes when I have plenty of my own right now. I sincerely hope Marx is the second performing today or I will certainly be facing a challenging performance.” The Witcher hummed, looking oddly calm. “Geralt, is there something you aren’t telling me?”</p><p>         “Come on Jaskier,” Geralt said, in lieu of an answer. He picked up the bard’s lute and went for the door. Jaskier frowned, following after him as they made their way to the concert hall.</p><p>         “Geralt,” Jaskier tried again. “What aren’t you telling me?” The Witcher stayed silent. He held the instrument out to the dragon, with a glint to his eyes. “Geralt, whatever you did, I sincerely hope it didn’t result in someone dying. Even if it is Valdo who died. I want the pleasure of beating him properly.” Jaskier let his eyes slip into slits for a moment before taking his lute back. The hall was already full of spectators for the final, talking loudly among themselves. Jaskier made his way to the stage where the announcer and judges were waiting for him. There was a suspicious lack of Valdo Marx in the room and Jaskier found himself frowning at Geralt. The White Wolf stared back. His face was a mask of neutrality. Beside him was Pricilla, grinning from ear to ear with a mischievous glint in her eyes. When the judges called for quiet, Jaskier forced himself to look away and focus on the task at hand. They introduced him and said he was the first of the two finalists to perform before leaving the stage allowing him to begin. He set aside his distractions, the missing troubadour, and the suspicious attractions of his mate and friend. Then, he began his performance, putting all of his energy into engaging the crowd and performing his songs. The response was wonderfully overwhelming. By the time he was done, the entire hall was on their feet yelling and clapping and begging for more. The judges returned to the stage, offering one more opportunity for the crowd to show their appreciation to Jaskier before calling for a break. Jaskier was beaming as he rejoined Geralt in the crowd. Pricilla was still there, and she wrapped her fellow bard in a hug, ignoring the heat that was surely oozing off him.</p><p>         “That was wonderful, Jaskier,” she exclaimed when she released him.</p><p>         “Thank you, my dear,” Jaskier grinned. “I thought that was extraordinarily well, even by my standards. Though I have to admit I was surprised that Valdo wasn’t around to taunt me. I don’t suppose you two had anything to do with that.” Jaskier looked between them, raising a single eyebrow.</p><p>         “Leave it alone, Jaskier,” Geralt sighed.</p><p>         “You have known me for almost twenty-five years, Geralt. Do you really think I will leave this alone? Valdo Marx has been a thorn in my side since Oxenfurt and has been tormenting me since his arrival at this competition. I know for a fact he would not have missed an opportunity to bully me before the finals unless he was physically restrained. Which means that you two have done something with him and I would like to know what.” Jaskier folded his arms, eyes flicking between them. Pricilla had the good sense to look at least slightly guilty, but the Witcher’s stoic façade didn’t falter.</p><p>         “Later, bard,” he said. He took his mate by his shoulders and pulled the dragon against in against him. Before Jaskier could respond the judges were on stage calling for quiet again. The man with the nasal voice from the day before stepped forward and held his arms up. Valdo still wasn’t on stage.</p><p>         “My good people, there has been a slight change to the proceedings this afternoon. Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris was called away on an urgent matter and was unable to complete the competition as planned. As such, the third-place performer, Effie, will be taking his place in the final round of the competition. She was informed this morning when Master Valdo’s absence was brought to our attention. It will be taken into consideration in the judging. Now, without further ado, Effie!” The man spread his arms and stepped aside, allowing the bard herself to step into the light. Jaskier looked back at Geralt and Pricilla. Neither of them looked back at him, both focused on the stage instead. The dragon huffed but allowed his attention to be directed to Effie and her performance. She was a talented bard, capable of commanding the audience and bringing them to their feet. Afterward, there was a short break to allow the judges to deliberate.</p><p>         During that break, Jaskier allowed Pricilla to direct the conversation to the merits of Effie’s performance. Before long, Jaskier and Effie were both called to the stage with the judges and the announcer. There was a rather long and boring speech about the merits of all the competitors before it was finally announced that Jaskier was indeed the winner of the competition, as he knew he would be. As he was bowing and accepting the praise of the crowd, he saw his Witcher smirking at him. Geralt inclined his head towards the stage, to acknowledge being seen. The attention from his mate made Jaskier preen, but the noise was deafening to his ears after a while. He gracefully bowed out of dinner that night, hoping he would be more prepared for the festival the next day. Geralt stayed by his side the whole time. When they were finally alone in their room, Jaskier rounded on him. “My darling Witcher, what did you do with Marx?” the bard demanded.</p><p>         “Nothing,” Geralt said, sounding far to smug for Jaskier to believe him, never mind the fluctuation in the Witcher’s normally steady heartbeat.</p><p>         “Geralt, there is no way he simply left. You and Pricilla did something either last night or this morning to scare him off. You will explain or you will be traveling on your own for the next month.” Jaskier let a little smoke out to emphasize the seriousness of his threat.</p><p>         The wolf sighed. “We truly did nothing. He was left this morning after receiving word that someone had hired a group of mercenaries to kill him.”</p><p>         “Who on earth did that?” Jaskier frowned.</p><p>         Geralt smirked. “Can you think of no one else who would want the leach dead? You said yourself, he has been stealing songs for more than twenty years.”</p><p>         “The timing is too perfect, Geralt. I know that you had a hand in it.” Jaskier pressed.</p><p>         “I had nothing to do with it. Though I did receive a message from Lambert this morning. He mentioned seeing the posting for Marx in his travels. Pricilla saw me reading the message when I retrieved breakfast this morning. Perhaps she felt the need to warn him of the coming threat.” Great shrugged, his cat eyes fixed on his bard as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.</p><p>         “That was almost very clever of you,” Jaskier conceded. “But next time at least let me try to beat him.”</p><p>         “You did beat him. Pricilla and I stole the judges’ notes from yesterday. She was planning on giving them to you tonight,” Geralt murmured. He wrapped his arms around his dragon and tucked his face in the bard’s neck.</p><p>         “Then I suppose a thank you is in order,” Jaskier smirked, leaning his neck back to allow better access to the wolf. Geralt hummed in response. “After all, you’ve put up with a lot the past few days, my darling wolf.”</p><p>         “Shut up, bard.” Geralt breathed into his neck. Jaskier laughed, beaming as he leaned into his mate’s touch.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>